Killing Time
by 556fmj
Summary: In a near-future where government has grown near tyrannical power, a threat has a emerged; one beyond the imaginations of men. In the midst of the unknown, three unsuspecting young men are catapulted into an unknown darkness that has cloaked itself across the planet. Yet, they are men and retribution or not, they will make their will known in the midst of tainted blood.
1. Chapter 1

Cigarette smoke billowed through the steamy, sweaty air as young voices screamed and laughed in the midst of drunken belligerence. Journey was blasting through the speakers just loud enough that a person could hear his own conversation, but no one else's.

A well-built young man in a tight black U.S.M.C. T-shirt rubbed his nose as he nodded to a skinny young man in glasses who was talking to him.

"Fundamentally, I'm choosing a .45 automatic- probably a Kimber of any model. It _has _to be Commander-sized or bigger though," the built guy stressed firmly with wide eyes, "because I don't play around with that three and a half inch horseshit."

"No, no, no." The skinny guy said in his unnecessarily deep voice while drunkenly shaking his head. "I want a Glock 22- A stock generation two with the bar-sights. That's the shit right there."

"Why the fuck a Gen 2?" The built guy wrinkled his eye brows in unimpressed confusion. "Why not at least a gen 3? At least you can put a mounted light on it if necessary then. Plus, they look better." The built guy shook his head as the skinny guy did the same. "Are you just saying shit because it's strictly stupid?" The built guy asked; becoming agitated. "It just sounds like you're saying stupid shit- like .40 is better than 9mm because Cops like it, which just happens to be complete horse-shit."

"I'm starting to think you don't know what the fuck you're talking about." The skinny guy took another drink of his mixer and the built guy stood up tall; puffing out his chest. As he did, 2 other guys he didn't know stepped out of the crowd next to the skinny guy.

"Are you getting into trouble?" A voice came from the built guy's right and he looked curiously.

"DJ!" The built guy shook DJ's hand firmly; forgetting about the guy he was having a conversation with.

"How you doing, Mason?" DJ's slapped Mason's shoulder and Mason shrugged.

"Talking sense into morons." Mason looked back toward the skinny kid but him and his friends were gone.

"Don't waste your breath." DJ said with a laugh. "Stupidity is a harsh creation that wastes thought and energy when the intelligent attempt to reverse it. It looks like you scared them off anyway." He smirked and looked into the crowd.

"I think that was you." Mason grunted. DJ was the same size, give or take a couple pounds, but the scar across his eye from a car accident and his thick chin-strap made him look irrefutably intimidating. In reality, he was very friendly but he could handle himself very well both physically _and _with a firearm. Mason found himself wrestling to keep up whenever the two were at the range together.

"What are you doing you god damn fool!?" Mason and DJ turned as they heard a familiar voice screaming from the back of the room. Mason grinned and DJ began to laugh as they saw another wide-shouldered, stubbly-faced comrade yelling at a kid he probably outweighed by 40 pounds. He kept on as more and more people started watching. "Do you just throw beer bottles on your own floor when you go home?" The kid didn't say anything. His friends melted away from his side and disappeared into the crowd as Tyler shrugged.

"Get the fuck out of here! Go fuck with someone else's house!" Tyler shook his head as the boy disappeared and Mason and DJ both walked up to his spot at the hand-built bar Tyler had painstakingly put together in the far corner of the basement.

"How's it going, gentlemen?" Tyler asked, irritated, as Mason and DJ both took a seat.

"Always... so unhappy." DJ grinned as he took a drink of a Tall, Blond Miller High Life.

"Got any Pabst Blue Ribbon back there?" Mason asked as he giggled and Tyler just shook his head.

"You guys drink... such shitty beer." Tyler put a Pabst on the bar in front of Mason and he raised his eye brows as he tipped back a bottle of Gin and took a swig.

"Well we just can't stomach drinking Christmas Trees." DJ said thoughtfully; motioning toward Tyler's gin. "At least not straight. Of course, I like to fill my time with a little Black, Velvety liquor." He winked at Mason and Mason shook his head with a roll of his eyes.

"You _would _drink that shit." Tyler grumbled and DJ shrugged.

"No hangover, my lovely lady." D.J. kissed at Tyler and let a large, exaggerated grin takeover his face. Tyler's expression became simply blank and disgusted.

"Ish." Tyler shook his head as both DJ and Mason laughed. "Turd Burglar."

Their conversation took off as the night began to wrap up. Slowly the level of blatant drunkenness took off the the memories of the night became hazy and the decisions became unfounded and stupid.

Beer bottles were smashed, names were called and conversations about love, life, religion, politics and dreams of grandeur poured from the young men as the basement became less and less congested and by the time the sun came up, no one remained... just empty bottles representing what would soon become of the human spirit.

* * *

_ "No, no, no, no- don't even start with me. This is just another government scam to get people all rhiled up just like 9/11 was. We've been seeing it more and more with this administration, this- this determination to shelve the Constitution and the Bill of Rights at all costs and implement a dictatorship. I don't believe a damn thing they say and I suggest you don't either."_

_ "That's a strong statement, Jay. A dictatorship? I agree that the attempted illegal implementation of the Dream Act was both immoral and way beyond questionable, and the harassment of political opponents using the IRS is echoing the actions of President Nixon, but a Dictatorship? Come on, let's be serious. September 11th happened because of our foreign policies and our interactions with and support of Israel- and that's not mentioning our lack of foresight when the evidence to stop the attack was right in front of us; just scattered between the FBI and the CIA. But 9/11 is beside the point. This issue is unique, unexpected, and... well, it's bazaar. What possible aims could the Federal government seek to achieve by fabricating a situation like this?"_

_ "Dependency... they want absolute dependency on them so they can create the ultimate 'Big Brother' society."_

Mason opened his eyes and groaned as the voices on the radio rattled is aching head. He wasn't catching any of the conversation, but rather attempting with all of his internal might not to turn over and vomit. The flavor of Jack Daniels and coke lingered in the back of his throat like a potent fart and he tried to swallow it away to no avail. He reached over to his garbage, and dirty dish ridden desk and grasped for his ever-present glass of water which he downed as quickly as he could. Before he set it back down, his stomach lurched just as he'd expected and he groaned as he closed his eyes again. His chest heaved heavily as he breathed deeply and steadily; trying to fight the urge to gag and cleanse his system. He wished he could fall back asleep, but there was no chance of that. All he could do was lie there and hope for the nausea to pass. Why the fuck did he drink anyway? Every time he did it the night was jam packed with retardation and the following day his body punished him like a reminder of how stupid he and everyone he interacted with had been. Maybe it was time to stick with a six pack and a pack of smokes.

As he lay there, controlling his breaths, the words streaming out of the radio began to register. Mason wrinkled his eye brows curiously as "9/11" kept being repeated over and over again like a catch phraze. It was April. What could be relevant to 9/11? Mason turned over on his side and continued to listed and his stomach lurched again from the sloshing of acidic juices and chewed up food in his stomach like a zip lock bag filled with Chunky Beef Sirloin stew. He sighed and his ears perked up when an interesting detail flooded foggy senses.

_"Again, we're covering an unfolding news story that's been flooding the national media since early this morning: The recently deceased returning to life. There's a lot of skepticism in the Scientific community and, naturally, an expectation that this is some strange virus or whatnot that is making people seem dead when they are actually very much alive, but suffering from severe symptoms. The patients are reportedly very dillusional and have been acting out aggressively with a lot of reports of biting and clawing. The World Health Organization is working alongside the Center for Disease Control in what is turning into a massive investigation into this strange new bug. _

_ "The Federal Government stated at their Press Conference this morning that this phenomena is hapening in very limited numbers and that there in no reason to be alarmed. They expect the cause to be discovered very soon and ask that people exercise the same hygiene precautions suggested during Flu Season. Other than that, business is continuing as usual in Washington with the President planning a stop in Chicago this morning in his nation wide campaign to amend the Constitution to remove the 2nd and 4th amendment to safeguard America from terrorism and additionally add stipulations to the 1st amendment to quote, "Protect individuals and entities from false information poisoning our advancing information society," and he added that-_

Mason reached over and turned the radio off and sat up, rubbing his eyes, as the information swirled around in his head. The dead returning to life? The idea of his grandparents knocking around desperately in their graves began to play around in his imagination and he shook his head with an unimpressed groan that emerged from deep within his gut. What an awful day: a hangover, morning wood, and angry dead people. He grabbed his phone off his desk and looked at the alerts. He had a text from Tyler.

_"George Washington was planning on giving a speech on constitutional rights outside his Mount Vernon tomb this morning. He's already been arrested by DHS for suspicion of terrorism ;)."_

Mason snickered and rolled his eyes. The media was awesome. They could create sensations more interesting than the greatest movies just by reporting things incorrectly in vast proportions. He wished he could get paid to be absolutely wrong all the time. He turned and put his feet on the floor and stood up. His eyes widened as he stumbled forward and put his hand against the wall. He was a lot more fucked up than he'd initially thought. What a fucking mess. He shook his head and his brain throbbed as he grabbed a towel out of his closet and a pair of clean boxers out of his dresser drawer. It was definitely shower time.

Mason took his time in the shower. He stood under the stream with his head against the wall as his naked body was soaked and he washed himself with Old Spice bodywash. Nothing was out of place for him. The thoughts of the news had left his head almost entirely and the only thing he was analyzing was where to go to party; Spencer's, or Sprengler's? He hadn't been laid in a while and it was starting to weigh on him. He was awful with women, though, and alcohol didn't seem to help matters. It just took away his filter and all the things he said that turned women off seemed to grow in proportion. He looked down and his abdomen and studied his very obvious ab muscles then flexed his pecs and ran has hands over them. He was in shape, that was for sure. His physique was top notch as he had intended as a sixteen-year-old when he began to recognize that being average was a boring, useless title and weight lifting and athletics had grown to tramendous importance. He wasn't a giant guy by any means, but he was very noticably more muscular than other young men. He would have liked to have managed to be massive, but every time he started eating enough to gain some weight and grow a bit, he started looking mushy and to him, that was unacceptable so he'd revert to his usual 190 trim pounds and that seemed to suit him as far as looking good and handling himself in the usual drunken brawl.

Mason stepped out of the shower and dried off in front of the mirror. He admired himself in the mirror for the moment before putting on his boxers and opening the bathroom door. He stepped into the hall and jumped in surprise as a voice shouted out at him.

"Jesus put some clothes on, pretty boy!" Tyler's voice heckled. Mason shrugged as he stepped toward his bedroom door.

"Let yourself in?" Mason asked with a smirke as he stepped through his door.

"Sure did!" Tyler barked back with an exaggerated amount of Scandenavian in his accent. "Figured Klugman wasn't home since it's the weekend. You hungry?" He stepped into Mason's doorway and listened to the radio still spewing out recycled information about the reanimated dead. "Weird, huh?"

"Yeah," Mason agreed as he pulled a pair of jeans on and slipped into a black Metallica t-shirt, "But it's just going to turn out to be something stupid- something we already knew about that's stronger because of some anti-biotic resistance or something."

"Like that new kind of Ghonorreah you got from that Japanese girl!" Tyler shot back in a hearbeat and Mason burst out laughing.

"Yeah," Mason managed to say through his laughter, "Yeah like that." He shook his head and pulled his wallet out of his dirty jeans before noticing Tyler was holding two packages of fresh meat. "Looking to cook out?"

"I guess," Tyler trailed off as he looked at the meat, "figured I'd bring you one if we were going to use your grill."

"Oh, how thoughtful." Mason grinned. "You talk to DJ today?" DJ was from Minnesota, like Tyler. They had gone to High School together and had both moved to Ohio for school in an effort to maintain some sort of normalcy that far away from home. Oddly enough, DJ was in school online at American Military University for Intelligence and Espionage studies and had moved just to stay with his friend; unlike Tyler, who was actually enrolled locally. Mason was interested to hear DJ's analysis of what was happening on the news. He always made things interesting and would have analyzed everything in complicated layers.

"No, not today." Tyler replied; walking behind Mason toward the kitchen patio doors. "I'm sure he's been up since seven, or eight just fuckin drinking coffee," he shrugged, "or brandy, maybe. I know he left before he was sloshed last night so he must have beer left. Maybe I should give him a call."

"Yeah, let's have a fucking cook-out. Maybe call Ryan and he can get some girls to tag along, or something."

"Ryan? You think Ryan can get girls to come to **your** place?" Tyler raised a doubtful eye brow. "You been smoking them rocks again?"

"Hey," Mason grunted, discouraged, "I'm trying to be optimistic here, dude."

"Can't we just have a cook-out completely devoid of blatant idiocy?" Tyler asked dryly. He was dead serious. Until he'd had at least half a bottle of brandy in him, he wasn't interested in being stuck in a group of dim-whitted unknowns.

"Uh, yeah." Mason shrugged. He didn't let Tyler's social defensiveness surprise him. He was kind of like a Nazi, or Racist, or other social-retard in some ways. Yet, once he had a good serving of brandy or gin inside him, he suddenly became a social magnet who needed attention like a dorky girl in a first time relationship with low self esteem issues due to an abusive step-father.

"You should give DJ a call." Mason tipped his head. He didn't see DJ all that often, even less often than he saw Tyler and as much as he enjoyed spending most of his time with Tyler, DJ kind of made him feel the way a hero older brother that was always away made you feel- just good. He totally had a man-crush and he had no problem admitting it; at least to himself. It didn't help matters that their main interest in life was the same: a serious respect and love for firearms. DJ was also, unfortunately, very suspicious of the government and its intentions. After a few drinks he hated anything wearing a uniform representing anything. As far as he seemed to be concerned, everyone was attempting to mold and develop a true 1984, Big Brother society.

"Alright," Tyler sighed. He took his phone out of his pocket and pulled up the messenger service. He'd messaged DJ several times that morning already, but he wasn't known for responding to texts in a timely fashion, well, at least not if they didn't involve alcohol, drunk women making bad decisions, or run-ins with violence. He sighed, started typing another request for him to meet him at Mason's, and raised his eye brows and eyes toward Mason. "What? I texted him three times, this is the fourth. He'll respond when his dick is out of his hand."

"And his thumb is out of his ass." Mason added quickly.

"Ish," Tyler grunted and his phone suddenly went off. He put the screen in front of his face and started laughing. "Listen to this shit! DJ says, 'Kent Hrbeck is full of shit. The fish Taco at Taco Johns fuckin' blows.'" They both laughed and Tyler shook his head. "He's at the gun outlet- got a .44 in, I guess, and picked up a box of lead round nose... and a knife. No wonder he always has to fuckin' buy PBR."

"No shit." Mason said in awe with a slow shake of his head. DJ was always buying some piece of gear to add to his collections. If he compiled too much, he'd send a couple guns to his dad via a transfer through a Federal Firearms Licensed dealer so that his dad could stick them in one of hi guns vaults. DJ didn't like having too much lying around to steal and his 14 gun safe and 8 gun pistol safe were both usually close to full. Mason was always jealous of DJ's collection. He wouldn't be working for another month, when the semester ended, and he started working road-crew for the county. It made it hard to pick up guns, or ammo when cash was so tight. It was tough enough filling up on gas, buying food, or getting beer for the weekend. Asking his parents would have been possible, but his dad was old school and he always said, "Earn it to appreciate it." Well, as far as Mason was concerned, he WAS earning it and a lot more by squeaking by so far under the poverty line and all the while doing great in his classes. At least the idea of a little support was nice.

"He's going to stop by his place, then grab some meat at the store and he'll head over here after that." Tyler nodded confidently and slipped his phone its his left front pocket. "He's bringing his beer too." That being said, Tyler looked over at Mason's fridge. He walked up to the door, opened it and grunted, pleased, when he spotted part of a 12 pack of Bud Light sitting on the middle shelf of the disarrayed, smelly fridge.

"God, you're a fucking pig." Tyler groaned in disgust and turned to Mason with two beers. "Hair of the dog?" He was pleased with the sickening face Mason made as he looked at the beers in Tyler's hands. In many ways, Tyler was a sadist. Pain and discomfort for other people made him happy to a certain extent; especially when it was his friends. Mason was surely no exception. Cynical and pessimistic in nature with a knack for complaining: As far as Tyler was concerned, Mason had earned a little discomfort for him to laugh at.

"Ah, fuck it." Mason accepted the beer and cracked the tab. He nodded toward the fridge then looked down at the foam that was making its way out of the can. "Get another one too. I'm going to be wanting to spew this all over you until I've had enough to feel it."

"You get it." Tyler snickered and walked past Mason toward the living room. "Oh, we should play Battlefield."

"God you're a dick." Mason shook his head. It was Just another Saturday.

* * *

Mason and Tyler dove hard into Battlefield 3 with no regard for the time, or any preparations. Mason had homework and Tyler had some work to do on a project, but what the fuck were they supposed to do, spend all their time stressing over the small stuff? It wasn't finals yet and Sundays were designed for homework. Saturdays were designed for hangovers and fucking off. Even so, Mason had that itching feeling in the back of his mind that he should be getting something done. Either way, he knew he wouldn't and that in itself was a relief.

Two hours into several games of "Rush" there was a knock at the front door. Tyler heard it swing open less than a second later before anyone could respond and a familiar voice echoed down the hall to the derilect living room.

"Playing battlefield?!" DJ yelled excitedly. He himself loved the game, though he had little time to play anymore. Work and his 5000 level courses for his Masters degree had begun suffocating him. To make things more complicated, he'd met a girl he'd been out with a time or two which was so unusual that not focusing on that would have been comparable to practicing intentional retardation which was... unwise.

DJ walked down the skinny hall from the beaten up, pale yellow, metal door into the cramped, recangular off-white kitchen and set his stuff on the island counter. He had his bailout bag with him, a 12-pack of Coors Light, and a plastic grocery bag stuffed with beer brats, hamburger, and a bottle of Gin with the necessary liter of tonic water and some limes.

"You bring the kitchen sink too?!" Tyler bantered with raised eye brows and a smartass grin overtaking his face.

"I actually considered it." DJ responded thoughtfully and looked at Mason's dirty, grimy sink with disgust. "Conidering how I knew this one would look."

DJ grinned and Tyler nodded in unexaggerated agreement. He'd known DJ long and their interactions consisted mainly of personal degradation mixed with a side order of social complaints and heavy dislike for most of the human population. DJ was more cynical than Tyler though his cynisism had changed dramatically since he and Tyler had been in High School. Tyler remembered DJ's heavy bouts of depression, emotional detachment, and long absences from school. There'd been no reason for DJ to graduate and Tyler couldn't really understand how he had. It was all very complicated, though.

DJ came from a strong family with two loving parents and two very successful brothers; one older and one younger. They were both athletes, both praised by family, friends and the community alike. Unlike his brothers, DJ had never taken an interest in the conventional sporting community. The sports bored him and lacked reason, or decisive objectivity. That in itself wasn't strange. His father, Larry, had done no more than run track and field and his mother had only been a cheerleader. He seemed more like his father, but with more discontent for the world and far less patience and less of a knack for mechanics and problem solving.

DJ would watch his father fix a car in their old workshop alone whether it be brakes, transmission replacement, or engine replacement and the next minute begin attempting to fix the feeding issues in an old Marlin .22 automatic and that was where DJ's interests had shifted. He'd found himself drawn to his fathers WWII collection of rifles and pistols- mostly his little treasure chest of S&W revolvers and 1911's and he'd begged his father to let him shoot each and every one to his hearts desire. There had been hesitation at first.

At the age of eleven Larry required that DJ only shoot when he was around to observe. That had lasted little more than a year until DJ was 12 and he'd grown not only comfortable, but highly capable with most of Larry's collection and as his brothers excelled in basketball, football, and baseball, Larry had found himself struggling to find marksmanship competitions for DJ to compete in. That turned out to be just the beginning. By the time DJ finally turned 18, Larry's Office had been turned into a trophy room showing off to the curious eye a vast collection of rifle and pistol awards for excellence. And yet, with all this success with a pistol and rifle, earned on his own terms, DJ had grown up hating himself.

It wasn't the lack of capability, but the lack of recognition and acceptance socially. People in that small town weren't interested in what he could do with a rifle, but only what his brothers could do on the field; competing with great discontent against teenagers from surrounding towns and counties. It poured over from a careless, uninterested community into school where he was rejected as being weird, antisocial, awkward, and possibly sociopathic. The word of mouth, popularity competion of high school politics were at hand forcing him to spend most of his time alone trying to convince himself that a 12 gauge slug in the mouth wasn't a good idea. He'd come close and eventually, he'd batted back with a vengeance.

College began rough, but new places brought a fresh start and DJ found himself excelling socially. People enjoyed talking to him and he felt his previous observations about life melting away and reforming themselves in a strong sort of self-satisfying confidence. His gradepoint average had skyrocketed from a barely passable 2.1 to a 3.72. He'd always been smart with a college reading level at the age of 11. He'd just never given a shit before. It had been a new sunset in the unfolding game of life.

DJ opened a bottle of Coors Light and walked onto the carpeted floor of the living room off of the smudged linoleum of the kitchen. "Ah, 'Back to Karkan'." DJ nodded with a hard look at the TV. "I hate this fucking map. I like that 'Siene Crossing' one- I just know where everything is. No one's ever playing it, though, which pisses me the fuck off."

"This game's fucking impossible!" Tyler roared without aknowledging anything had come out of DJ's mouth. He died again and threw the controller at Mason. "You fucking play. I can't even aim the stupid fucking guns right."

"Jeez, take it easy." DJ reeled with fake discomfort and a smirk began to form at the corners of his lips. "Can't take the heat, stay out of the kitchen."

"Yeah." Tyler grumbled and turned to look at the counter where DJ's bags were sitting. "Hey," Tyler perked, "you bring your new piece?!" His eye brows were raised high and his excitement was making him glow.

"Well yeah," DJ nodded and set his beer down on a brown end table that in no way matched the black couch, or the yellowish end table at the other end of it, "I figured you guys might like to have a good look at it." He turned toward the kitchen and took a step back onto the dirty linoleum.

"What model did you get?" Mason spoke up with excited curiosity. "Finally get an Anaconda? That'd be fucking sweet, man."

"No." DJ said flatly. "Sadly, I did not get an Anaconda. BUT, I did myself a favor and managed to pick up a very lightly used S&W 329PD."

"What?" Mason said with disbelief. He turned to the kitchen with wide eyes and dropped the playstation controller without as much as pausing it. He and Tyler walked into the kitchen and watched as DJ took it out of the S&W box and held it up like the Holy Grail.

"Smith and Wesson 329PD in .44 Magnum..." DJ raised the revolver, lined up the sights and cocked the hammer. "In 99 percent condition with a Performance Center touch of love that you can actually feel." He meant there was a nice trigger, which he squeezed and dropped the hammer. He lowered the gun and looked at it happily and handed it over to Tyler who took it with excitement. "Figure I'll be shooting a lot of .44 Special loads with it just for fun at matches at the indoor range downtown. Wyatt will be excited to see I took his advice and picked one up." Wyatt was the president of the local gun club and had single handedly gotten an IDPA chapter together to compete in the area. DJ had gladly joined and when he had time, Mason went and excelled as well. Wyatt shot almost exclusively with a revolver, though he sometimes brought a nice Custom Browning Hi Power he'd had for years. He was well off and his fancy guns showed it.

"We should go in the garage and shoot this." Tyler said with heavy mock-stupidity and a look of dazed intensity in his eyes. "No one will hear it." He lined up the sights and dry-fired the smooth double action pull.

"Great idea." DJ said in firm agreement with no sway. "Since I left the gun shop I've been looking for a way to get it taken from me."

Mason took the gun from Tyler, Looked down the sights and dry fired the .44. "Done." He said firmly and grinned.

* * *

"Smells mighty nice." DJ took a drink of his gin and tonic all the while watching Mason flip two stakes and rotate a line of Bratwursts. "I always fancied myself a good cook, Mason, but you are far superior to the likes of me. I'd better stick with Egg Bake from now on and you can do the fancy stuff."

"Egg Bake sounds fucking good." Tyler took a gulp of beer and stared into nothing straight ahead of him. "Bacon, ham, sausage, peppers, onions, hashbrowns... cheese, cheese and cheese." He made a pleased sound that rumbled deep inside his core.

"Don't forget, you need eggs too." Mason noted and closed the grill lid. He grabbed his beer from the dirt-caked glass patio table and took a drink.

"Nah," Tyler shook his head, "Meat bake."

"Shepherds pie!" DJ said, delighted, and raised his beer.

"Meat bake." Mason chuckled and sat down at the table. He looked at DJ. "How many of those have you had?" He asked with a strong glance at DJ's cup of gin and tonic.

"About five." DJ shrugged and started to take a drink in the midst of it, he grunted as a thought popped into his head and he motioned to the table. He swollowed and set his drink down. "Just so you know, I'm not eating on this table. Remember in January, there were between three and ten dead birds lying on it? It's like some organization was using them as a tool to see if there was poisonous gas in your house... which there was."

Tyler started laughing and so did Mason. Tears began to run down Mason's eyes as he shook his head in protest.

"No, no, no- Bloom had thrown out a bunch of garbage from under the sink and he thought the rat poison I'd put in there because of that fucking squirrel that came in through that hold in the attic was some sort of cerial or something that had spilled down there and he threw it out for the birds." He forced a sad, regretful expression and shook his head. "Poor bastards didn't stand a chance."

"Yeah," Tyler nodded seriously and shrugged, "I still think there are deadly vapors in secluded pockets around your home. Kind of like clusters of radiation."

"Wouldn't surprise me." Mason said with a deep breath. "But we got nothing to worry about fellows. Right now, if you die, you just come back."

"Oh yeah, I forgot about that." DJ wrinkled his eye brows and took a sip. "What's it... four o'clock?" He took his phone out of his pocket and checked the time. "Yeah, I'm sure there's probably an update every thirty seconds on TV." He continued to fiddle with his phone.

"Sounds like Swine Flue and all that shit." Tyler said passively and leaned back in his chair. He wasn't interested in hysteria; especially that which stemmed from media influence. He'd gotten wound up in H1N1 and all the others with fantasies of surviving after an apocalypse started by a communicable disease, or nuclear war. It was all interesting to him and always had been- mainly due to his interests in creation, production and independence. A world with far less people and that valued real labor skills and capabilities seemed perfect to him. Yet, in reality, the idea of millions upon millions of innocent deaths by some sort of powerful, unstoppable disease disgusted him. He was human, after all, with no emotional instabilities other than those caused by living in a shitty economy caused by a government influenced by massive numnbers of uneducated, lackluster morons and greedy big business.

"It's going to be nothing more than a hyped up sort of flu if anything. A couple of people will be quarantined and it'll be gone in a month, if that." Mason himself had his own fantasies of an apocalyptic world. He knew it wasn't pretty. No apocalyptic world could possibly be pretty. What he liked about it, though, was the lack of liberals. In a scenario of devastating apocalypse, the liberals and progressives either adapted and became real, hard working, capable people, or they simply died off while still clutching the idea that everything could be accomplished with words either spoken or written on a piece of paper. It may have been down right psychopathic to desire the deaths of so many people, but he never hesitated suggesting that most of the country and world should just ride a boat into the middle of the ocean and jump into the water. There was no one more hateful, or disgusting than a progressivist who suggested equality, freedom, and fairness by way of governmental force. It was absolutely disgusting and he could not understand it. People should make their own way or they didn't deserve it.

"Holy Jesus, listen to this." DJ spat with wide eyes that stared at his phone and he started reading. "'_Heart attack victim eats sons, 4 and 2, and attacks wife."_ He paused then read on. _"'Police were called to the residence of Trisha and Harold Lund after a neighbor heard screams coming from the household. Upon arrival, the police found Harold Lund attempting to force his way into a closet that his wife, Trisha, had barricaded herself into. _

_ "After a scuffle with the two arriving officers, resulting in an officer being severely bitten, Harold was taken into custody and Trisha Lund was taken to a local Hospital to be treated for bite wounds and fever. In the bedroom of the toddlers, Officers were shocked to find the remains of the two children, Riley and Thomas Lund, whom appear to have been eaten. Sargeant Timothy Marcus of the Decker County Sheriffs Department stated that most of the organs and flesh of the children had been eaten in almost their entirety. Harold Lund is being held in the psychiatric unit of the local hospital, though it has been reported that his heart appears to have suffered massive trauma and is not working; making Harold legally dead and making this developing national story even more sinister." _

DJ looked up from his phone with wide eyes. "Can you fucking believe that? Ate his fucking kids!" He kept scrolling with his phone. "Jesus, this is saying that the CDC is becoming concerned with the massive numbers of cases being reported in EVERY STATE. New York City is supposedly being bombarded with them and the Governor is considering calling in the National Guard due to the overwhelming numbers. Jesus, that's crazy."

"Seems fine here." Mason shrugged. "If it was as bad as the news is going to say, then they'd cancel school and have a curfew and all of that shit."

"State of Emergency/Marshall Law." DJ nodded. "You want a nightmare, that's it. The federal government would implement draconian rules with wide and and hungry drewling mouths when they saw the opportunity to shelve the constitution and apply their own more self-serving system." DJ shrugged when he realized he was starting his conspiracy drive again, but he didn't care. It needed to be heard, even if it drove people away or drew criticism. He'd had his own fair share of criticism his whole life, from the way he'd dressed as a young man to his interests. His skin was thick enough to take it.

"You have to understand that the government does not have its people in mind unless having the people in mind is productive to its primary objective. Right now, the people are the least of concerns of the Presidential Administration; at least their well-being. This can be seen by the President and his Administration's desire to expand government in every facet including ways that violate checks and balances and federal law because ultimately, if he keeps chipping away, he knows he can get away with anything and so does the rest of the federal government. I made a large transition from young, proud, patriotic American to quiet, observant, judgemental libertarian and I can tell you quite confidently that if the government could kill you for any reason, all three of us would be dead. Our more progressive compatriots would be spared, of course." DJ took several gulps of his drink and looked at Mason who was studying him. Tyler was simply contemplating what he'd just heard.

"Do you really think that enlisted soldiers would be willing to kill Americans, DJ? I don't think they would." Mason looked at his beer and imagined soldiers laughing as they shot and killed citizens of their own country on no grounds, but following orders. The idea that no soldier would question it was hard to bite into and even more so considering his undying respect for all soldiers in all branches of the armed services. His family had a long heritage of service to this great nation and he just didn't have it in him to doubt those who had dedicated and risked their own lives.

"Mason," DJ said softly, "I love our soldiers. They do harrowing things in the name of their flag and their people and the idea of a democracy that flourishes and provides security and happinness. BUT... do not be fooled by the words of movies or recruiters. Once the patriotic words of generals past and fancy poems have faded away, they fight for one another. Not for you and I. And following an order is in their blood. I'd have little hope of salvation by mutiny." DJ sighed and shook his head in disgust. "And don't even get me started on the justice system and the police." He spat on the patio floor. "Talk about a simmering evil that is going nowhere."

"Jesus, can we talk about something else?" Tlyer groaned. The weekend was close enough to over that he didn't want to be crushing all of his remaining spirit talking about getting murdered by people he was supposed to be able to trust. He didn't like politics in the first place and policy bored him. It wasn't that he didn't care about his rights. He just... got a little overwhelmed by it all sometimes. It wasn't his sort of issue.

"Yes, we've touched that enough I think." DJ agreed with a smile.

"Food's done." Mason said happily. "Let's eat."

Due to the disgusting nature of Mason's kitchen, they ate in the confines of the living room with the television playing the news which seemed grim, but not overwhelming. Lot's of police cars and some footage of the national guard was being played over and over again and Mason was beginning to get bored of the whole thing. He chewed his prime rib as the camera broke to a news anchor and a guest.

_"Hello everyone, I'm Kip Heins and with me today I have Donald Corbair from the Center of Disease Control. Mr. Corbair, thank you for joining us." _The man just nodded and smiled. _"Now, according to a recent report from Washington, the CDC has come to the conclusion that this is some sort of new viral outbreak, just as many people had come to suspect. But the biggest question I think viewers want to know is, are people who have been dead for a long time going to be revived by this Virus as well, or do individuals have to be exposed to the Virus before they die?"_

_ "The fact of the matter is that currently we don't know much about the virus, but based on the little research we've been able to do, we've come to the conclusion that the tissue must be alive when it is exposed in order for it to spread and ultimately reanimate the corpse. You see, Kip, these people ARE in fact deceased, make no mistake."_

_ "That's very disturbing. The second question I have is, do these people have any memories of their lives? Initial reports suggested that they acted drunk and detached... sometimes even violent. What experiences has the CDC had with the victims this far?_

_"Current data suggests that, in fact, no- the victims have no recollection of their __previous selves. They seem to be in some sort of trance-like state we've had no success in getting them out of. While the victims are not outright violent, they seem to be drawn strongly to living people and have, on ocassion, thoughtlessly attacked the way a disturbed wild animal may. _

_ "I'm sorry, I have to cut away for this breaking news story just in from Minto, North Dakota- a recently deceased man found his way inside a local elementary school and attacked and killed one child, nine year old Katelyn Hansen, by, quote 'biting her flesh until she bled to death.' Apparently four other children were in the classroom as well, preparing for an annual arts and crafts show for elementary students when the man, Jason Fuller, stumbled into the room and grabbed the nearest child. He immediately began his attack to the horror of the onlooking children. The teacher, Marilyn Steinbach, 36, attempted to intervene, but was severely injured when the man bit into her neck. She apparently died from her wounds while the man continued to devour her. The rest of the children fled in terror while the act carried on. When Police arrived, the man had devoured most of the flesh and internal organs of both of his victims."_

"Jesus," DJ shook his head, "he fuckin' supersized it. Went in for the single with cheese and walked out with a belly full of double quarter pounder." DJ snickered and Mason chuckled, but Tyler just shook his head in disgust.

"That's fucked up, man." Tyler took a drink of beer. "I don't get it. If they're violent, or whatever, why are they just... eating everyone? And why are so many people dying out of nowhere and doing this?"

"Well, think of it this way," Mason said thoughtfully, "people die randomly in bed and whatnot every day, but you don't hear about it because, well, it didn't really matter. You never really hear where people died or from what unless it's news like a car accident or something. Now, when people die at home, it's news... because other people are getting killed as a result of it too."

"Exactly." DJ agreed. "You almost have to have everybody sleep separate with the door locked." He looked at Mason. "You wanna grab me a beer? You're closer to the fridge." He smirked.

"I don't like being told what to do unless I'm naked." Mason said plainly.

"Well, I would like to be spared the sight of your athletic nature." DJ said as he stood up. He was a weight lifter too and it was definitely noticeable, but he wasn't obsessed with his physical form the way Mason was. It was too complicated and very time consuming and time was something DJ didn't have. Not with work and School on his plate.

"Ish." Tyler wrinkled his nose in digust. "I saw enough of him this morning."

DJ got up and walked into the kitchen to the fridge and he opened the door. He grabbed a bottle of beer and popped the top. He was pretty buzzed and teetering toward drunk. He didn't want to waste it. "Hey," he said loudly, "where we partying tonight?"

Tyler lifted his head up and shrugged. "You think anyone really wants to party? Shit's fucked up... I got a weird vibe."

"Hey, any college kid that hasn't had a death in the family in the last 16 hours isn't going to give a fist-fuck about current affairs." Mason replied. "I say Polazzo's place." He smiled with a confident nod.

"Alright, I'm down." Tyler sighed. He didn't really want to get drunk, but he figured blowing off some more steam was needed and anything that got the weird vibe to fade away was a good idea.

"Alright!" DJ said boisterously. "To the bottle shop!"

"Calm down, Trojan Man." Tyler grumbled. "Let me finish this beer."

* * *

Two hours after their departure from Mason's shambled home, DJ and Mason were standing in Anthony Polazzo's basement. Polazzo was a very large, very high-energy, friendly young man Tyler knew from his days in the dormatory as a freshman. He always threw the best parties with the most girls. Creatures of the night always showed up too, naturally, and that's what DJ and Mason were discussing. Tyler had disappeared to some unknown place in the house.

"Can you even imagine fucking that?" DJ said... taken a'back by the very ugly, purple faced, 300 plus pound ethnic mutt who was standing in the back corner of the basement with a bottle of Bourbon she was drinking straight. "You'd have to have your earbuds in listening to Taylor Swift in the hopes of keeping your dick hard because you're fucking what is... a genetic disaster."

"I know," Mason said through a laugh he couldn't stifle, "I saw her and my first reaction was, oh shit there's a monster in the house!" He grinned as DJ exploded with laughter.

"Her tits look like fucking sand bags not filled properly. I mean, they're the actual shape of lop sided sandbags... she reminds me of a Japanese monster movie. Everyone's yelling, 'My God, somebody get a bazooka and stop that thing!'."

DJ started snickering as Mason wrinkled his nose in disgust. The girl was a serious beast and she had a very loud, opinionated voice. Big, gross girls always did but this one was unique. She was off in some strange manner in every way. Her ass was even lop sided. It looked like an apple and a lima bean put together.

"It's like she's two fucking people. She started out as conjoined twins but she just absorbed the other one...poorly." Mason shook his head. "I bet at night her dad used to just throw in the closet with the dog toys."

"Hey guys." a cute, young voice came from behind. Mason and DJ both turned around and smiled.

"Hey, Carly." Mason smiled shyly. DJ was smiling too, but more passively. He had no intentions of trying to interact with someone he thought was pleasant when he was drunk. All it led to was embarassment and awkward run-ins.

"What are you two gawking at? I saw you snickering." She smiled cutely at Mason, who shrugged; unsure of what to say.

"That irradiated Half Grizzly Bear, half sperm whale in the corner." DJ grunted. "She's a direct result of the Chernoble incident."

"You're so aweful!" Carly whined with a shocked smile on her face. She swatted DJ on the arm and he shrugged. She wasn't a sensitive girl and she never had been. She had three brothers and they took care of that. She tried to pretend, though, but it never really worked. She got off on a little grungy humor and that's why she liked to party at Polazzo's. More likely than not, Tyler, DJ and Mason would be there and evil shit poured from them like water from a spout.

"I don't see a problem with calling it as it is. Fuck her... big fuckin' freak." DJ sipped his Coors and wrinkled his nose in dismissive disgust.

"You just hate everyone, don't you?" Carly shook her head; partially astonished and partially amused. "You just like to break everyone's balls."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure she's got balls." DJ agreed with a confident nod. His gaze was everywhere as he bounced from cute girl, to hot girl, to disappointing girl- back and forth.

"Getting enough eye fucking in, there, Chief?" Mason grinned a hearty grin as he tried to mimic DJ's gaze-trajectory and noted what was in it's path.

"Well right when I start getting a boner, I hit a bogey and it just goes to a quarter chub again." He raised an eye brow and shrugged a shoulder. "Good way to tease yourself." His eyes went back to a girl of an ethnicity he couldn't call. She almost looked like she may be half-indian, or maybe just south American of sorts. Either way, she was making his dick twitch and he didn't really want to stop looking at her.

"Go get her, hound dog." Mason slapped DJ on the back. "We'll be rooting for you."

"Yeah." DJ grumbled. "Not a chance- I got something going on elsewhere." DJ turned from the crowd, locked onto the hand-built bar, and walked away as Mason and Carly watched.

"Tough son of a bitch, but he sure isn't cheery very often." Mason shook his head. "I kind of feel bad for him." He watched DJ take a shot of bourbon then chase it with a gulp of beer. His focus didn't appear to be on anyone in particular anymore- he was just... zoned out.

"He's fine." Carly said dismissively. "You know how he is once he touches the hard stuff- like a rattle snake."

"Yeah," Mason nodded in agreement, "Won't take much from a stranger, that's for sure." He looked Carly and caught her looking him over. Her eyes shot to her and embarrassment took over her face.

"Sorry!" She stammered. "I've had three and I'm starting to feel it." She shrugged an exaggerated, cute shrug, causing Mason's excite-o-meter to start alarming and his anxiety to start rearing its nasty head. She bit her lower lip and looked around curiously. "How big is this house? Doesn't he have like a whole bunch of extra rooms no one ever goes in?" She may as well have been screaming _"Take me somewhere and fuck my throat raw!"_ But Mason had never been good at this game and he couldn't pick up on a girl's subtlties and even if he thought he had, he second guessed them away until his chance was dead in the water.

"Come on," Carly grabbed Mason's hand and squeezed. She wasn't going to let his doumbfounded lack of experience ruin it for him and her both. She'd wanted this for a while and the heat of desire was rushing through her body and resonating in her stomach and throbbing down between her legs. "Let's go see... I haven't been up stairs."

"Uh, yeah, okay." Mason stammered nervously. He turned and set his beer on a ledge and followed as Carly led him toward the stairs. His heart was pounding harder than he'd ever felt before.

* * *

"Hey, look at this." DJ pointed at Mason and Carly as they disappeared up the stairs.

"Oh, that's so cute." Tyler sneered and cackled a high pitched laugh as he poured himself a gin-sour and gulped half of it down. He wiped his mouth clean and cleared is nasal passages with a hard pull of grissly, mucousy air. "I was wondering when he was going to finally spill some seeds... in her mouth."

"Well..." DJ trailed off and turned back to his drink, "Everyone's got the right to be a sucker once." Out of nowehere a young man came out of the crowd from DJ's 7 o'clock and slapped DJ on the back.

"Hey, brother, I heard you were quite the fighting man." His voice was low and he had the physique of the usual college jock playing far down-the-line backup for the baseball team. His breath wreaked of cheap canadian whiskey and his eyes were glazed. They bobbed forward and back as his a-little-too-big head threatened to teeter him over.

"I'm not your brother." DJ grumbled. He looked the young man over, gave a bit of a grimace, then turned back to his drink.

"That's the guy, right Rhiley?" The young man looked back into the crowd for a confirmation of something DJ wasn't sure of. He'd been in enough fights to know he had it coming from everywhere all the time and the swinging of an empty beer bottle wouldn't surprise him. This was beginning to look more like a little shit called on his friend, "Jack the Giant Killer" to prove a point. It was nothing new for DJ. He'd seen it all before.

"Hey, take a hike, man," Tyler barked at the young man, "take your fucking problem out the door so you don't get fucked up." Tyler didn't want a fight. He didn't even want to see a fight. They brought the possibility of a lot of trouble to a college party; especially if DJ had a little stress to blow off. DJ didn't seem to be having it, though. He wasn't even facing the young man. He had his eyes locked on his drink that was clenched tightly in his hand.

"Hey, I'm not even fucking talking to you, dude," the young man slurred. "Hey, asshole." The young man grabbed DJ' shoulder and that was it. Like the speed of a rattle snake, DJ grabbed the young man's wrist and his other hand went behind his head and he forced his big stupid face into the edge of the bar. Then, with all of his force, DJ slammed the guy's head against it once, twice, then a third time then pulled him up and pushed him backward by the jaw and he spilled hard onto the concrete floor.

The young man's friend's darted forward out of the crowd of party-goers and DJ jumped to his feet. They all froze, unsure, in their tracks with wide eyes. "Now how much of this shit do I have to deal with tonight?" DJ spat. He took a bag of loose-leaf chewing tobacco out of his pocket and put a wad in his cheek and began chewing. The three friends were looking him over closely; unsure of how to proceed.

"You fucked him up bad, man." The closest friend whined with a shaky voice. He looked at his friend on the floor then back at DJ. "He plays for the fucking basketball team, asshole."

"To hell with that fella," DJ spat a stream of thick, black tobacco juice onto the unconscious young man's head. His friends immediately straightened up and took a step forward.

"DJ!" Tyler's voice barked and DJ looked over. Tyler tossed him a baseball bat which he caught one handed and gripped the handle tightly. Everyone was staring quietly now and the music had been stopped.

"Now you get your shit off the floor and fuck off, boys, you hear? Or I'm going to bash your brains all over the fucking wall." The vain on DJ's kneck was protruding through his skin and throbbing steadily. His adrenaline had begun to subside but his lack of patience wasn't giving his intense anger a break. Yet, there was no response. The little group of fight-hungry friends just stood before him, waiting for a moment to pounce. DJ just huffed his chest up. "You just take a step forward boy and you won't believe what happens next... even while it's happening."

"Alright, alright!" The friend closest to DJ put his hands in the air. "Just fuckin'... take it easy, man."

"This is easy, boy," DJ snapped, "the hard way would be pretty fucking ugly."

* * *

"This looks chill." Carly's voice whispered through the darkness. She'd led Mason to the closed- in patio where the deep freeze was kept. A nice futon was positioned against the wall complete with a blanket and pillow for the wayward soul too drunk to make it home for the night. She sat down on it and Mason plopped down next to her.

"I might need another drink.' Mason chuckled. "My hearts pounding."

"Mine too." Carly giggled. "Hey, what ever happened to that girl you were tangled up with last time? That dark haired chick." Her eyes gazed at Mason with innocence and a cuteness he couldn't shake. He just shrugged.

"She sobered up, I guess." Mason sighed he looked at Carly and shrugged a shoulder. "How drunk are you?" He smiled.

"I'll need a few more to get a drunk." Carly smiled. "I didn't want to get drunk tonight, everything's weird for some reason- all that news. I don't know, it just seems fucked up to me to get drunk when stuff like that's going on, you know?" She stared into Mason's eyes and he shrugged.

"I don't know- everything get's this way now days. It's like... everything unknown is just super scary and it always this big fear of terrorism and weapons of mass destruction and apocalypse." He grinned big. "And believe me, I know all about this shit, I hang out with DJ."

"Oh god," Carly giggled, "he's so funny. Remember last time it was like 5 in the morning and he was going on about the NSA and CIA spying on Americans and anything that threatens the government. Oh, god, he's so intense about everything." She shrugged. "He's not scary in the classic sort of way where I think he's going to suffocate me and put me in his freezer, but he's very, like... he's convincing. He has conviction and that makes me respect him." She looked into Mason's eyes again. "I can see you have conviction too. You're is just more gentle. You're not tired the way he is..."

Mason stared into Carly's eyes as his heart pounded. Even though his heart was making a fuss, his spirit was calm. He looked at the floor and took a deep breath. "You make me nervous." He admitted and looked back at her. "God, you make me nervous." He couldn't help but admit it. She wasn't some bimbo to get off on. She represented something he truly liked.

"Fuck that, you make **ME **nervous!" Carly swatted Mason's arm. "You're fucking hot, kid! I just want to..." Carly trailed off and her hand went to his stomach. He stared at her for a moment and her hand went under his shirt and ran along his abs. Her head went down and began to kiss his stomach and her hand moved down to the tent in his jeans. There was no going back.

* * *

_I'd like to note that this is the beginning of a revision of "Brass Cased and Blood Lined" that I wrote over several years. It needs a new approach and I plan to provide a well seasoned, more objectified version for all my readers. Additionally, please review in full. These are the things that keep us writing. The war awaits and the smell of blood is in the air._

_Please note that I do appreciate input. I started young and recognize the value of comments and recommendations. On the flip side, though, there are certain things I pay no interest to. One, is your firearms ideas. My ideas and decisions based on firearms come from my experiences in real life (from competition to hobby and generation to generation) and I do not necessarily choose them based upon what is "most likely.' I choose them because... I've had some play time with them and I know what they can do and the likelihood they're going to at least be SOMEWHERE in the US. There are exceptions of course: No FAMAS (who the fuck would have a FAMAS in the US?) and no L85A1 or A2 or its family tree. That would be pushing it. Please take note additionally I have worked in the firearms retail business, have competed in the large world of firearms competition and have plenty of experience with these things to boot including gunsmithing and handloading. If you're legitimately mad about the placement of a UMP 40, or a Colt CM901, please note so- but I'm not likely to take much away from it. All in all, I love you guys. Tell me what you like and don't like. Everything else is just whatever. AND... If you feel the absolutely heart numbing need to suggest a gun, or several of them, then send me a PM. I'll discuss it with you._


	2. Chapter 2

_2_

_The Strange_

_Time didn't slow down or speed up over the following 2 weeks. In fact, the reality of what was happening, even in light of what was now not only in the United Sates, but in the rest of world, had barely dawned on it's inhabitants. While celebrities visited talk shows and Golf Season was in full swing, media outlets and social networks continued to spew their invaluable self-serving messages aimed at feeding the selfish, greedy culture that created them; all leading to perfect storm._

Tyler rubbed the base of his nose stressfully as he stared at the paper on his desk. It was covered with ineligible chicken scratches and half-completed mathematic formulas. It was Monday and he was supposed to have a test, but school had been called off due to a pending state of emergency. It was the perfect time to get ahead before everything cooled down and went back to normal. All he had to do was be smart enough to take advantage of the break and keep his hands off the liquor. He stared at the equation in question for a moment longer, then slammed his fist on the desk before crumpling it up and throwing it in the garbage by his feet. _Fucking Bullshit, _he thought out loud. Calc 2 was the bane of his existence as much as welding seemed to be the object of it. He rubbed his hand through his curly hair, opened his dresser drawer and pulled out a pack of Camel Wides. He didn't smoke habitually, it was more of a stress release for bad times. Math was the problem, not U.S. Domestic issues.

Tyler made his way onto the porch of the second story duplex and lit the cigarette with a cheap Zippo he'd bought from a peddler in New York city. It had the Air Cavalry emblem on it, which reminded him of Clint Eastwood in Gran Torino. What great fuckin' movie that was. Anything with heavy amounts of racial slurs and the impatience of a stubborn old war vet was Tyler's style. Shit, anything where a lead character was an asshole was great for that matter- unless Channing Tatum was in it. Then he just wanted to soak himself in Kerosene and light himself on fire in protest.

Tyler puffed the cigarette and let out a drag as he listened to the ambiance of the city. There were more sirens than usual, but that had been most of the week. He hadn't seen as many ambulances or cop cars zipping down the nearby streets, though, and he figured that was a good sign. Yet, that could have been because a unit of the National Guard had been deployed to town to help augment the fairly small police force that had always been plenty for Edmonton. Their Humvees didn't have sirens or lights in them and the news had said they'd been busy with their checkpoints, health screenings and house to house searches for infected. Apparently there had been some shootings too between them and loved ones of the dead, or sick. It wasn't surprising to Tyler. No one knew what the National Guard and its NBC units were doing to those they seized. The local news and paper seemed oddly uninterested as well and to him, as passive as he was, that sounded like maybe a little bit of media control.

Tyler sighed and took another puff of the Camel. He'd spoken with his father earlier in the day and it had brought his spirits up. Things were quiet in northern Minnesota, at least in the rural areas. The Kittson County Sheriff's department had mobilized a large group of locals to help augment it's nine-man staff and, at least for the most part, they'd managed to keep his home town relatively secure. His father had mentioned a National Guard Unit was going to be deployed there too; stationed in the City Hall and teamed with a contingent of the CDC. Hallock was the county center with the largest hospital and the county courthouse. It made sense that if a Guard unit was going to deploy, they'd do it there where the rest of the county resources were based. That would give them access to the most police power and support. Either way, Tyler was happy with the news. So happy, in fact, that he wished he'd gotten more concerned in the beginning and went home. The vision of being in the kitchen he grew up in, or sleeping in his childhood bed flashed before his eyes and he felt his skin grow clammy as his concern swelled momentarily. He shook it away and wrinkled his eye brows. Everything was fine or there would be fighter jets in the air and massive troop movements. That's how things worked in modern times. Natural or man-made disasters were answered with massive federal resources. Right now, the only resources being utilized seemed to be the CDC and the Guard. At least that's what the TV said. He flicked the cigarette off the porch and watched it disappear into the darkness below. That was that and he didn't feel any better. But fuck it all anyway. Why sweat the small stuff? He turned to the patio door and stepped inside.

The duplex was quiet and Tyler liked it. His roommates, Corey and Jake, had gone home across the state line into Indiana and left Tyler to the likes of himself. He liked his alone time very much and when he didn't get it, he became quite the intolerable monster known for raising his voice and throwing shit. He wasn't proud of that, but he had a lot on his plate and having the people he was dwelling with fucking with his living standards pissed him off in ways that little else did. Being alone entirely with all of this going on though... it was a strange feeling. Something felt off in a way he couldn't describe, like he had homework past due in a class he was suffering in- like a bunch of Calc two papers. Adding to the problem was the fact that he couldn't create a game-plan to fix it and move on.

Tyler sat down on the new brown, leather couch in his living-room and reclined with his legs up on the foot rest. His hand fumbled blindly for the remote until the tips of his fingers felt the smooth, cheap plastic and he grasped it and pressed the "on" button. The TV's power-light turned green and he watched impatiently as the screen warmed up and the picture flashed to life. It was as expected; news was spewing new and old information about this and that. How much interest he had in it was arguable. He knew things were bad and that was enough, but getting a gauge for just how bad it really was required a little input. The media seemed to be a little quiet about some facts, but he figured a little muffled and modified reporting could at least give him some idea of the condition of things around him. What was on was perfect. It was the hospital where DJ worked, Richmond Hospital of the large, greedy and prosperous Richmond Health Systems. It looked... overwhelmed.

The TV was muted, but the camera was showing everything from lines of cold people waiting, huddled, outside in the cool spring wind to the jam-packed parking-lot. Then it flashed a quick glimpse of soldiers with outdated M16A2's and gas masks and their Humvees outside near white, unmarked vans. There were men in white scrub-like outfits scurrying around too; moving from the Hospital to large tents set up immediately outside the Ambulance bay. Finally, Tyler saw the contracted Hospital security officers with surgical masks covering their faces and tired eyes watching the flow of activity. He didn't see DJ, but he saw two co-workers he'd met through him. DJ's supervisor and good friend, Timothy VanGrinsven, with his well groomed hair and young, 23 year old youthful looks and Officer Alex Corey with his wide shoulders and even younger looking dark, 20 year old eyes. The security team was young, there was no arguing with that, but almost all of them were in school with plans of working in the Criminal Justice field in the future. They had to start somewhere. Yet, Tyler felt uneasy seeing them in the mix. What was the object of having young men like them providing security in an environment that was swarming with not only soldiers, but what looked like a quarter of the police department? It seemed an elementary attempt by the facility to ensure they had a defense against liability. It was, after all, a private enterprise and a State of Emergency had not yet been called. Richmond Health Systems had obviously happily obliged to the government's request for support. _It was all perception, _that's what DJ always said about Richmond Health Systems. _They don't believe in actually doing anything right, but more-so what will be perceived as right by the public that seems to be less and less impressed with their quality of service. _He wondered if DJ was there... Tyler knew that his hour's were generally 8am to 4pm, or 0800 to 1600 as DJ liked to say. Yet, things had picked up and DJ had mentioned a load of overtime being offered by the company. DJ liked overtime. To him, it equaled either a new gun, a bit of ammo, or an upgrade for his lift-kit outfitted 98 Jeep Cherokee sport he'd dropped about six grand on. Still, Tyler didn't really like the idea of him being in the mix during this whole thing. He hesitated at the thought of giving DJ a call. If he was at work, Tyler didn't really want to know. Instead, he turned the mute off and listened to the pouring of biased, modified details.

_"A spokesman for the CDC said that this is standard operating procedure when responding to the outbreak of a new, life-threatening disease or sickness and that patients suffering from the symptoms should not be afraid of receiving medical verification for the safety of themselves, their loved ones and the general public. As we've been saying for the last hour, it is expected that Governor Hawthorn will make his State of Emergency declaration before midnight and he will be mobilizing all units of the Ohio National Guard ahead of any National State of Emergency declaration by the President. There have been whispers that the President Hadad is working in an emergency act to disarm all people within heavily affected areas to make things move more safely and securely for emergency services operating to prevent this healthcare disaster from growing even bigger and claiming even more lives than it already has. Heather?_

The camera switched to a woman in a newsroom with her stupid female-suit and overdone makeup. Tyler shook his head and took a deep, aggravated breath. _"Our top story tonight- gunfire at a Police checkpoint outside Edmonton on highway 52. Police were on the scene this evening checking all traffic going in and out of the city when officers discovered what appeared to be a fifteen-year-old victim of the ISD virus. When the call for medical assistance was put out, the father reportedly shoved two of the officers away and attempted to move his infected daughter back into his vehicle. Eye witnesses report that all four officers on the scene opened fire with their sidearms and one rifle, leaving the mother, father, brother and the infected victim dead. Calls to the Edmonton Police Department for comment were not returned, but after several shootouts between officers and families of the infected the police appear to be on the high-alert. Possibly, too high of an alert. _

_ "That's all for your KVNA 10 o'clock news. I'm Heather Monson, goodnight and good luck, Edmonton."_

Tyler switched the channelandwrinkled his eye brows with reasonable concern as he saw tanks and soldiers dancing along the screen in a fancy montage put together by an overpaid editor in a professionally biased newsroom. This looked worse and he felt the need for another cigarette coming on. They were interviewing soldiers about how the emergency was affecting them and what they wanted the public to know. It was a nice touch and heart-warming for the most part. There were some gung-ho, rock and roll types that ruined the mood too. That part made him sick. He was no bleeding-heart liberal, but this wasn't Iraq or Afghanistan and he didn't trust a full-blooded combat soldier to use discretion on the homeland. Special Forces operatives may have made him feel differently, but the looks in the eyes of some of those soldiers made him feel fear in a startling and intense way. He hit the mute button again and picked up his phone. He dialed Mason's number and waited as it rang three times before a tired voice picked up.

"What's up?" Mason groaned. "I fell asleep on the couch- thanks for waking me. I gots English Lit homework. What you up to?"

"Uh," Tyler grumbled tiredly, "I was doing Calc stuff, but I'm taking a break. Fuckin'... that shits killing my brain, dude." He paused as he heard Mason giggle with delight. Tyler just raised his eye brows and eyed the pack of Camel Wides. "Say, do you know if DJ's working? I didn't want to call and bother him if he was sleeping- or if he was working, for that matter." Tyler massaged the base of his nose as he heard Mason groan in thought.

"I think he worked this morning, but I don't remember. I asked him on Saturday and he said things were getting a little tense at the main hospital and they wanted him to transfer over there from the little one on the south side that's under construction. He wasn't real happy about it and I don't blame him- he's worked there long enough and he has a big enough work load right now with that Thesis paper he's writing. He said God saw he was getting too close to graduating and becoming successful, so he created this whole mess to stop him." Mason laughed lightheartedly.

"Well, I always called him God's punchline." Tyler added with an adequate amount of seriousness in his voice that made Mason grunt.

"I'll give him a call and see. I'll call you back if I find out."

"Yeah, alright- actually just have him call me if you talk to him and he's free. I just... want to talk to him."

"You alright, bud?" Mason was concerned. He wasn't used to Tyler sounding this way. "Hey, I can come over, I mean, the guys are gone. Everyone bounced when school got called off. I'm kinda lonely and Carly is working over at that thing the Red Cross set up for displaced people so she can get her volunteer hours in. She'd be thrilled if we were all together for a night- remember the good times and all." Mason chuckled, but it was empty and hesitant this time.

"Well, just talk to DJ if you can. I'll give you a call later if I'm still up."

"Alright, bud, will do. Take care."

"You too." Tyler hung up the phone and dropped his head back. The off feeling was growing at an awful rate and both the gin on top of his fridge and his Camel Wides were calling his name. He looked across the living room to the kitchen at the bottle sitting there all half-full and alone. "Well at least you fuckin' put out." Tyler said to the bottle as he climbed off the couch and walked toward it. "Come on and give me some lovin', sweetheart." He grabbed the bottle and twisted off the cap. Now that the ball was rolling, it wouldn't stop til the gin was gone.


End file.
